It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

Partisans defend every kind of evil when it’s done by their own allies
You always need enough money that you can quit when it’s time
You’re not going to understand me as I want to be understood
Donald Trump is no conservative; he’s an immoral, narcissistic liar
Donald Trump’s jingoistic tribalism marks him as a dangerous buffoon
There’s magic in the dark solitude and quiet stillness after midnight
We’re all masters of denial when facing painful truths in our lives